


Cephalalgia

by the_beekeeper_of_sussex



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Declarations Of Love, First Kiss, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Frottage, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-05
Updated: 2016-09-04
Packaged: 2018-07-29 10:15:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7680484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_beekeeper_of_sussex/pseuds/the_beekeeper_of_sussex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John is in pain and it's up to Sherlock to set him to rights by any means possible.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first foray into the "porniverse". I tried to keep John and Sherlock in character as best I could. They are both awkward and confident at the same time but 100% sweet to one another.  
> Thank you to "yorkiepug" for beta-ing my work and coming up with the title!

Sherlock was sat at the kitchen table, pyjama –clad and in the middle of an experiment involving frass collected from a variety of local _Lepidoptera_ species. He was about to prepare a new slide when he heard the front door open. Glancing at the clock, he frowned when he saw that it was only 2pm; far too early for John to be home from the clinic. The tread on the stairs was undoubtedly John, but there was heaviness to the steps that gave Sherlock pause.  


The door to the flat swung open and John stepped over the threshold. Sherlock’s frown deepened when he saw that John’s typically confident posture had been replaced by rounded shoulders and a tentative step. His eyes were squinted and it appeared that he had either been crying or was about to do so.  


Sherlock rose from his chair with such haste that he upended it. “John, what’s wrong? What’s happened?”  


Offering no response, John hung up his rain-dampened jacket and toed off his shoes before shuffling into the living room where he sank slowly into his armchair and closed his eyes.  


Sherlock was well and truly worried now. It wasn’t like John to be this quiet. He brought himself to the side of the chair, laid a tentative hand on John’s shoulder, and pleaded him with a voice barely above a whisper but heavy with concern, “John? Tell me what’s wrong. _Please_.”  


John inhaled deeply through his nose and peeked his eyes open to look at Sherlock. “I’ve had a migraine all day that I haven’t been able to shake. I woke up with it this morning so I took some tablets that normally do the trick. It was almost gone by lunchtime but then this bloody storm front moved in and tanked the barometric pressure. The pain has been getting worse ever since. I finally gave up and came home after I felt like I was going to throw up in the middle of one of my appointments.” John quirked a half-hearted smile, “Contrary to popular belief, people generally aren’t too keen on coming to the clinic just to be vomited on by their own doctor.” Closing his eyes, John sunk further into his armchair.  


Sherlock frowned, “Can you take another dose of the tablets you took earlier?”  


John shook his head, wincing at the pain that bloomed in his head. “Nope. The paracetamol is too hard on my stomach. If I take a second dose I’ll be throwing up for the next 24 hours. I’m already feeling nauseated; the tube ride home damn near killed me. I was going to take some dispersible aspirin since it doesn’t seem to upset my stomach as much. I should still probably eat something before I take it, though.” John slowly began to prop himself up in his chair, but before he could stand, Sherlock placed his hand on John’s shoulder and gently pressed him back.  


“Let me, John. Just lay back and rest. What would you like me to get for you?”  


“Just some toast with a little jam would be fine.”  


“Would you like me to make you some tea as well?”  


“Not right now, thanks.”  


Sherlock gave John’s shoulder a squeeze and shuffled off to the kitchen. As he waited for the bread to toast he leaned against the counter and scowled at the back of John’s head. The pain John was feeling must truly be severe if he didn’t even hesitate to turn down a cup of tea. John Watson never turned down a cup of tea. The flat could be burning down around them and he would probably yell at Sherlock to _“calm down and let me finish my cuppa you great git!…”_  


The popping of the toaster jarred Sherlock from his thoughts. He covered each piece with a thin spread of butter and jam and returned to the living room where John remained with his eyes closed. Having heard Sherlock’s approach, however, he lifted his head slowly and took the offered plate from his hands. They sat silent in their respective chairs as John picked at the bread.  


John had only managed to finish one piece of toast before he set the rest aside and lifted himself out of his chair. “I think I’m going to go take some of that aspirin and lie down for a bit while it kicks in. There’s some lasagna left-over from last night in a container in the fridge for you. If I happen to fall asleep go ahead and eat without me. Please.” He turned to make his way to the stairs leading up to his room but paused for a moment, seemingly lost in thought. Swiveling slowly back around to face Sherlock he tipped his head toward the abandoned toast and offered a weak smile. “Thank you for that. My stomach is feeling better now. I’ll be back down in a little bit, okay?”  


Sherlock cast his eyes downward and gave a slight nod of his head. He wished there were something more he could offer John, but he had never been good at offering comfort to people. If he were honest with himself he had never really cared to before John. Offering comfort was something that had always lain dangerously within the boundaries of sentiment. He had come to realize long ago, however, that where John Watson was concerned he would make an exception to every one of his rules.  


Registering John’s slow retreat from the living room Sherlock snapped his head up and cleared his throat lightly in order to get his attention. “John? You… you, uh, you are welcome to lie down in my bed if you like.”  


John stopped and turned back toward Sherlock, head cocked to the side. “Come again?”  


Sherlock shifted his eyes to the side as he felt his face heat. He reached down and began to fidget uncomfortably with the seam on the pocket of his dressing gown. “Well, your bedroom is upstairs. And…and we only have the one bathroom.” He returned his focus to John and stared at him as though his statement was entirely explanatory. John had come to refer to these types of statements as “Sherlogic” as Sherlock was generally the only one in the room that had the foggiest notion of what was going on.  


Recognizing that John needed more information, Sherlock took a deep breath to steady his nerves and forged ahead, “I thought that perhaps you might feel more comfortable down here. Just in case your nausea returns and you feel the need to…you know…be sick.”  


John lowered his head and let out a soft chuckle, “That’s not a bad idea actually. I really wasn’t looking forward to having to navigate stairs at the moment anyway. Thank you.” Padding his way past Sherlock, he offered the man’s arm a gentle squeeze of thanks as he made his way toward the bedroom.  


Sherlock’s hand unconsciously sought out the place where John had touched him as he watched the man disappear down the hallway and into the en suite. He heard the distinctive _clink_ of the aspirin tablets as they were dropped into the drinking glass John kept near the sink. The tap ran briefly then stopped. There was a pause as John waited for the tablets to dissolve. A moment later, John emerged and shuffled his way into the bedroom. The door had been left slightly ajar and Sherlock quietly drew closer. He could see the light of the room dim as the curtains were adjusted. After some moments of rustling fabric there was a short squeak of springs as John laid himself on the mattress. Then--silence.  


Confident that John had finally settled in, Sherlock returned to his experiment in the kitchen. After several minutes of failing to make any headway he decided to abandon his project in favor of checking his email for potential cases. A quick scan of the living room, however, revealed that his laptop was nowhere to be found which meant that he had left it in his bedroom. His bedroom; where John was currently ensconced. The very thought of it nearly took his breath away and he reached out to steady himself.  


Sherlock crept toward the door and stood silently just outside the room. He tapped lightly on the door with his knuckles and called John’s name softly, “John? I seem to have left my laptop in here. Would you mind if I grabbed it?”  


The response was immediate yet muffled, “I’m not sleeping, Sherlock. Come on in.”  


Sherlock stepped gingerly into the room. The gray afternoon light bled through the space between the curtain panels, painting everything in muted tones. John lay on his back in the middle of the bed, duvet tucked up under his chin. Not wishing to disturb John further Sherlock quickly gathered his laptop. As he began his retreat back to the living room a thought gave him pause. Swallowing his nerves, he stepped hesitantly to the bedside.  


“I see your headache has not begun to diminish yet. When I was young I used to get migraines rather frequently,” Sherlock clutched his laptop to his chest and gazed down at his feet as he recalled the memories, “When they were especially bad mummy would come and sit with me and massage my scalp until the pain went away. I could…I could do that for you… If you like.” Sherlock tensed his jaw and shuffled his feet, wary of what kind of reaction John would have to such a bold offer. He had little experience when it came to true friendship, but even he knew that his offer crossed the typical boundaries of friendship and he braced himself for John’s reaction.  


Sherlock heard the whisper of the duvet and he lifted his head to brave a glance at John. He fully expected that he was about to be ejected from the room for making such a bold offer, but what he saw instead nearly sent his brain offline. John still lay in the middle of the bed, but he had thrown the duvet back, revealing that he had stripped off all but his socks and a pair of blue checked boxers. He slowly propped himself into a sitting position and inched himself away from the headboard. Offering a lopsided grin, he stretched his arm behind him and patted the mattress, “Well, come on, then. It’s not every day The Great Sherlock Holmes offers free scalp massages. I’d be mad to pass up that opportunity.”  


It took a moment for Sherlock’s mind to register the sight in front of him. He had never seen John in anything less than a vest and pyjama bottoms, even on the warmest of days. He was thankful for the room’s dimmed lighting as he felt a blush begin to bloom across his cheeks. Forcing his limbs to cooperate, he stepped forward and clambered onto the bed, settling himself behind John. He propped a pillow behind his back and stretched his long legs, bracketing the shorter man. The intimate arrangement caused Sherlock’s face to heat further. He placed another pillow in his lap and tried to convince himself that it was for John’s comfort rather than to hide the arousal that was threatening to make itself known. He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Ahem…If you scoot forward a bit more you can lay back down. I want your head elevated as little as possible in order to minimize any pressure or discomfort.”  


John settled back and rested his head in Sherlock’s pillow-clad lap. He folded his hands atop his stomach and released a sigh of relief. Sherlock took the opportunity to let his eyes trace down the length of John’s body; a luxury he’d not yet had in their several years of living together. Where Sherlock felt his own body to be an unruly collection of limbs, he found John’s to be compact and well-proportioned. Broad shoulders (one of which bore the scar he longed to learn the texture of), well-toned arms, and soft stomach. His brain stuttered a bit when he reached the elastic of John’s pants. The boxer shorts he was wearing were a bit baggy, which left much to Sherlock’s imagination. If the strong thighs that continued from beneath them were any indication, however, his brain would no doubt be able to supply him with a vivid approximation of John’s endowment. Much to Sherlock’s chagrin, his brain chose to do just that. Once again he was thankful for the pillow he currently had situated over his own pelvic region.  


Realizing that he had been sitting silent and frozen, Sherlock finally placed his fingertips gently on John’s head. “Are you ready, John?”  


John hummed contentedly as he felt Sherlock’s cool fingers on his skin. He cracked his eyes open and gave a slight nod of his head, “Yeah, anytime.”  


The rain outside had picked up and was now beating a soothing staccato against the window panes. John’s entire body began to relax as Sherlock’s fingers worked methodically over his scalp. He let his arms fall to his side, hands resting lightly atop Sherlock’s shins. The left leg of Sherlock’s pyjama bottoms had ridden up to his knee and John could feel the coarse, yet sparse, hair on the man’s leg. As John let his mind drift, he unconsciously began to rub lazy circles over the skin with his thumb.  


Sherlock mentally congratulated himself for not missing a beat in his ministrations and continued to gently massage John’s scalp until he began to see the man’s features begin to relax. The steady back-and-forth motion of John’s thumbs along his shins slowed until they came to a full stop. As his breaths grew deeper and more even, Sherlock knew that John had fallen into a light slumber. Sherlock gently drew his hands away from John’s head and gazed at John’s lax form. The lines that had earlier creased his brow had smoothed, the grimace of discomfort now softened. It was as if in sleep John became years younger. After a brief moment of contemplation, Sherlock decided to indulge himself and gingerly placed his hands on John’s chest. With eyes closed he felt his hands rise and fall with the gentle tidal motion; heart beating strong beneath his fingertips.  


He allowed himself this pleasure only briefly for fear that John would wake up. Letting go a quiet sigh, he removed his hands from John’s chest and began to slowly extract himself from the bed.  


“You could stay…if you like.”  


Sherlock froze at the sound of John’s voice. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to slow his heart which was currently threatening to burst from his chest. He had spent hours in his mind palace running countless scenarios of this exact moment. A moment he never believed would become reality. No amount of analysis could have prepared him for this. This kind of thing was John’s area. And so, adrift and with no foreseeable way forward, Sherlock did what he always did in these situations: he deferred to John Watson, his conductor of light.  


His voice came out barely above a whisper as he addressed the top of John’s head, “Would _you_ like me to stay, John?”

John tipped his head back and answered without hesitation, “I would, yeah.”  


Sherlock cleared his throat nervously and nudged John’s shoulder, “Budge up, then. If I maintain this position I’ll be in need of a chiropractor within the hour.”  


After some shuffling of limbs and rearrangement of sheets and blankets, the two men lay side by side. The light filtering through the sheer curtains had grown increasingly dim with the onset of late afternoon. Sherlock raised a fist to his mouth in an unsuccessful attempt to stifle a yawn. John responded in kind.  


Sherlock turned his head toward John, “Is your head feeling any better?”

“A bit, yeah. The nausea is gone and the pain isn’t as acute as it had been.” John turned to face Sherlock. He reached out between them, and carefully took hold of his hand, “Thank you.” The two words, so simple, yet able to say all that he could not yet voice: _“Thank you for helping me when I needed you,” “Thank you for staying,” “Thank you for trusting me,” “Thank you for trusting this. For trusting Us.”_  


Sherlock gave a soft smile and gently squeezed back, “Anytime, John.”  


The two men lay facing each other, neither showing any sign of relinquishing their grip on each other. The subdued lighting of the room began to have its effect, pulling them both under into a peaceful slumber.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Kudos and constructive comments are always appreciated.  
> Feel free to follow me over on Tumblr at the_beekeeper_of_sussex for a drama-free Johnlock experience.

When John woke, the gray light of afternoon had been replaced with the orange evening glow of the streetlamp outside and the light pooling into the room from the kitchen. During their nap Sherlock had rolled onto his side, one arm tucked under his pillow, the other slung low over John’s stomach. His hand rested just below John’s navel and dangerously close to the tent that was beginning to form in the man’s boxers. Certain that Sherlock would not recover from the dignity lost at finding himself in such a compromising position, John attempted to relocate the hand. As soon as he made contact, however, Sherlock stirred and shifted closer to John. While the movement served to successfully dislodged the hand (which was resting enticingly close to John’s anatomy), it only served to present evidence that he was not the only one harboring a (growing) erection.  


John's mouth went dry at the discovery. They had danced around each other for months now through heated stares and casual touches; the moment always broken by one of them turning away or pulling back before it could go any further. Sherlock had never spoken to John about his romantic history, if he had one at all, but he was fairly confident that their attraction for each other was mutual, albeit desperately unspoken. What had transpired between them within the past few hours had taken them further across the line of friendship than they had ever been.  


Beside him Sherlock shifted, pressing his length more insistently against John’s hip, “You’re thinking entirely too hard for someone who has recently suffered a migraine.”  


_“Well, in for a penny…”_ John thought to himself. Gathering his courage, John dipped his head and addressed the mop of curls in front of him. “Surprised I can think at all, what with the majority of my blood flow currently being re-routed.” With the state of his arousal now verbalized, John lay still, nervously waiting to see how Sherlock would respond.  


Sherlock raised his head to look at John, mouth drawn down in confusion. His eyes tracked down the length of John’s body until his eyes rested on the now prominent erection. His eyes widened and brow rose in understanding, _“Oh!”_ he mouthed. Turning his gaze back to John he hitched his leg up over John’s thigh and gave a small, tentative thrust of his hips, his knee teasing lightly against John’s testicles. “It appears I am in a similar state.”  


Even in the subdued lighting, John could see that Sherlock’s expression held a heartrending mix of hope and anxiety. Emotions John was currently experiencing himself. Gathering every ounce of courage he had left, John placed his hand gently on the crown of Sherlock’s head and carded his fingers through the soft hair, “Hmm…and how does that great brain of yours propose we remedy this situation?”  


Sherlock’s brow furrowed. He swallowed and opened his mouth to speak but no words came. John began to worry that perhaps he had misread the situation. He began to pull away when Sherlock finally found his voice, “Perhaps…um, perhaps like…like this?” Propping himself on his elbow, he leaned forward and timidly placed a soft kiss on John’s lips.  


John let his eyes fall closed and he let out a hum of contentment as the warm lips brushed against his own. The moment was fleeting, but when he opened his eyes he offered Sherlock an appraising smile. “I think that was a _very_ good starting point.” Leaning forward, John brought his mouth to Sherlock’s ear and whispered low; warm breath ghosting against pale skin, “Shall we explore your method further?”  


Emboldened by the confirmation that John reciprocated his desires, Sherlock placed another kiss, this one laden with intent, on John’s lips. “I would like that very much.”  


John slid his hand under Sherlock’s t-shirt and explored the flat planes of his abdomen. His skin was smooth as marble aside from the hard nipples and the smattering of hair that led suggestively from navel toward what was now a most evident erection beneath the striped pyjama bottoms. John grabbed hold of the drawstring at the waist. He pulled his mouth away from Sherlock’s just long enough to confirm that what he was about to do was okay. “May I?”  


“I’d be offended if you didn’t”  


John tugged on the drawstring, loosening the knot. “Lie back for me, love.”  


The unexpected endearment caused Sherlock’s breath to catch. He had been called many things, but a term of endearment, _‘love’_ no less, had never been one of them. He closed his eyes and filed the memory away in his mind palace for safe keeping. He replayed the moment on a loop until he faintly registered John’s voice calling his name.  


“Sherlock? Sherlock, are you okay? Did you want to stop?”  


Opening his eyes he saw John’s worried face looking down at him. “No, John, I’m fine. It’s just that no one has ever used that word in reference to me before.”  


The confession nearly split John’s heart in two and he found himself gathering Sherlock back into his arms. He held the lanky body in a tight embrace and vowed to himself to never let him go another day without knowing just how much he was loved.  


Placing a kiss at his temple, John guided Sherlock back to the mattress and reached again for the waistband of the pyjama bottoms. Sherlock’s erection had flagged a bit, but John was still careful to guide them in such that they didn’t catch. Having dropped the bottoms to the side of the bed, John took a moment to sit back on his heels and admire the view in front of him. While most people would have looked ridiculous half-clothed like this, Sherlock was, unsurprisingly, elegant. He lay with his hands above his head which made him look even taller; one leg was straight, the other lay open and bent at the knee. His auburn pubic hair was neatly trimmed and it elegantly framed his erection, which was beginning to fill back out again under John’s appraisal.  


He wasn’t sure how long he had been staring for when John was pulled from his reverie by Sherlock’s foot nudging against his thigh. “I do believe turnabout is fair play.”  


“So it is,” John hummed.  


John deftly removed himself from the mattress and slid the boxers over his hips, the fabric pooling around his ankles. The room was suddenly bathed in a warm glow as the bedside lamp was clicked on. Sherlock’s eyes gave his body a once over, but they eventually came to settle on his now fully erect cock. John knew he was larger than average when it came to penis size; it was one of the few characteristics about his body that he took pride in. He remained still at the foot of the bed to allow Sherlock to catalog whatever data he desired, preening a bit under his gaze.  


Sherlock reached out his hand and beckoned John back onto the bed where he slinked his way up the length of Sherlock’s body and straddled his thighs. The position caused their erections to brush against each other and they gasped simultaneously at the sensation. John’s hips thrust forward of their own accord and he grunted at the friction it provided. They had barely touched each other, but already their breath was coming in short bursts as the tension that had built between them for so long finally beginning to seek its release.  


“Sher—Sherlock, do you ha—do you have any lube?”  


Sherlock momentarily looked panic stricken, but without breaking the rhythm of his hips he reached over and rummaged through the drawer of his nightstand. Having found what he was looking for he thrust his hand at John. His movements became uncoordinated and he averted his eyes, clearly feeling ashamed at his oversight. “All I have is….is this, John. I’m…I’m sorry.”  


John could see Sherlock was beginning to close himself off emotionally, so he willed the movement of his own hips to slow to a stop. He took the small tube of lotion from Sherlock’s grip with one hand and cupped his jaw with the other. “Hey. Hey, it’s _fine_. This will work just fine, love.” To demonstrate just how ‘fine’ it was, he squeezed some of the lotion into his palm and slicked himself from root to tip, the glide of his hand bringing forth a low moan as well as a bit of pre-ejaculate.  


Seeing John touch himself this way had served well to distract Sherlock from any distress he had been feeling and his own his own erection twitched sympathetically. The small movement did not go unnoticed by John who squeezed more of the lotion onto his hand and wrapped his fingers gently around Sherlock’s cock.  


Sherlock’s hips bucked hard at the touch, almost throwing John from off him. His hands clutched at the sheets and a cry tore from his mouth, “Oh, _god_ , John!”  


Unable to restrain himself any longer John grabbed at the hem of Sherlock’s pyjama shirt with his free hand, “Off. Take this off. I want to be able to see all of you.”  


Sherlock wasted no time in pulling the shirt over his head and tossing it aside. He smoothed his hands up John’s arms and hummed contentedly he felt the flex of muscle under his fingers as John continued to slowly work his erection. Having John touch him like this was something Sherlock never dreamed possible and the sheer power of the emotions he was feeling threatened to overtake him. Before he could succumb, he reached up and buried his hand in John’s hair, pulling him down into a heated kiss.  


The arrangement of their bodies caused John to have to relinquish his hold on Sherlock, but with a roll of his hips he was able to re-establish the friction they both so desperately sought. They licked, and nipped and teased at each other until the coordination of hips and mouth became too much, settling then for resting their foreheads together, breathing heavily into one another and stealing kisses when they could.  


Over time their pace became frenetic and gasps gave way to moans as they began to chase their release. The heat of the room had left the space between them sweat-slicked and they clutched at each other in an attempt to hold on.  


Sherlock was the first to feel rush of his impending orgasm. The rhythmic thrust of his hips began to falter and he opened his mouth to call John’s name. No sound ever came forth, however, as his orgasm overtook him, Sherlock’s mouth left open in a silent cry as he emptied himself between them. John could feel the warmth of the release pool between their bodies and he gripped Sherlock’s shoulders tightly as he began to thrust harder against him; his own climax followed not far behind, punctuated by a euphoric shout.  


Bodies spent, they lay against each other in the glow of the lamplight, lungs gasping for air, muscles continuing to twitch from exertion. While neither of them was keen on moving any time soon, the weight of John’s lax body finally became too much and Sherlock gently rolled them to the side so they lay facing each other. Sherlock managed to fish his discarded pyjama shirt from the twisted sheets and used it to gently wipe down John and then himself. “We’ll eventually have to get up and have a proper shower, but I’d like to lay here with you for a bit… if you don’t mind.”  


John smiled, “That sounds lovely. Here, let’s get more comfortable, shall we?…” As John attempted to shift onto his back he stopped short, his brow drawn down in confusion. Reaching under him he pulled out the abandoned tube of lotion. Smiling smugly, he waggled the tube at Sherlock before placing it back on the nightstand. “Alright, come here, you.”  


Sherlock shuffled nearer and pillowed his head on John’s chest, pulling him as close as he could manage. They lay comfortably wrapped around each other for some time. John was just about to drift off when Sherlock called to him, his voice quiet and unsure, “John? I’m…I’m sorry about my oversight with the lube. I used up the last of my supply last week in an experiment.”  


John cocked his eyebrow, “Experiment? What on _earth_ could you have…you know what? Never mind, it doesn’t matter.”  


They relaxed once more into each other. John had finally drifted off when Sherlock’s quiet voice shook him from his sleep, “Did you know, John, there has been anecdotal evidence that having an orgasm can alleviate some of the discomfort associated with migraines?”  


“Is there now?" John yawned, "Well, my head is feeling much better. Thank you, love.”  


They lay in silence for some time before Sherlock exhaled sharply through his nose and began to squirm. He fidgeted for some time before his body suddenly stilled. “John?”  


“Yes, Sherlock?”  


“I do to…Love you, that is.”  


John smiled broadly to himself. Squeezing Sherlock impossibly tighter, he dipped his head down and placed kiss on the crown of his head. “Brilliant.”


	3. Artwork for Chapter 2 of Cephalagia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beautiful artwork created with love by camillo1978.  
> Thank you so much for bringing my story to life!


End file.
